Rules
by Ash10
Summary: An addedum to the television episode, Far From the Brave. Saunders finally gets the chance to say goodbye to a friend.


"Rules," an addendum to the episode, "Far From the Brave."

It was so damn quiet – so peaceful. The woods smelled of leaves, damp earth and recent rain. He smelled of sweat and blood.

The squad was double-timing it back home, back to Company after a night patrol. Saunders brought up the rear. He thought he was being alert – no, knew he was. Where the Kraut came from was anybody's guess; certainly there were plenty of places to hide. Perhaps the German thought he could pick off the entire squad one man at a time, beginning at the rear; first Saunders, then Kirby, Littlejohn and so on.

He caught the sergeant in the side, driving the blade of the custom-made knife deep into the G.I.'s body, yanking it out as Saunders went down, his Thompson dropped, swallowed within the deep undergrowth.

The German's mistake was in underestimating the experienced American. Somehow, as the Kraut attempted to deliver the killing blow, Saunders reversed the German's thrust and the ten inch blade ended up buried to the hilt in the chest of its owner.

There were no sounds other than a surprised grunt from the Kraut as he grasped at his prized weapon, trying, futilely, to extract it from between his own ribs. And then a whispery sigh as life left the body.

Saunders swayed as he knelt over the dead Kraut, knew he wouldn't remain conscious long. Blood gushed from the deep wound and dark spots danced across his field of vision. He scrambled desperately to pull his .45 automatic from its holster. A shot would call back the squad. Otherwise it might be hours before anyone realized he was missing. Saunders didn't have hours and he knew it. His hands were slick with his blood and the Kraut's.

He struggled to his feet, still trying to free the pistol, stumbling some yards past the German's body, the Thompson forgotten. His suddenly numb fingers couldn't unfasten the holster snap and Saunders felt the first twinge of panic, but before it got the chance to overwhelm the already confused sergeant, darkness did. Saunders passed out.

He came to wishing someone would come for him, pull him out of this place, take him home, but there wasn't a soul; the aching stillness went on forever. The side of his field jacket was soaked with blood, too much of it and more still flowing. Saunders was already too weak to reach the bandages in his web belt. His arms felt like lead and all the willing in the world wouldn't do a bit of good to change matters.

He was exhausted and knew he should be afraid, but somehow the exhaustion choked off even thoughts of fear. Again he lost consciousness.

"Jeez, Sarge…sure got yourself into some mess this time, huh?"

Saunders woke slowly to a familiar voice, a soft southern drawl, but it took his clouded mind a while to process the information, pin it down, pin down the owner of the voice.

He opened his eyes and when his vision cleared it was Grady Long who squatted directly in front of him. Same Grady, all gangly, arms and legs almost too long for the body, eyes wide and gray, touched with an innocence rare in an experienced soldier. And he was freckled to such a degree he seemed almost perpetually suntanned. The soldier smiled, showing large white perfect teeth, a gap between the front two. It was Grady all right.

God, but it was great to see him. "Yeah…some mess, Grady," Saunders agreed, lifting a hand to reveal the slit in the bloody jacket.

Grady didn't actually go pale, but he sobered up quickly, losing the grin. "Jeez, Sarge…jeez!" he repeated. "Let's get you patched up."

The soldier reached around Saunders, opened a pouch in the non-com's belt and gently freed a bandage and sulfa. Working quickly he uncovered the wound, dusted it with powder and bandaged his friend all while speaking in his easy, melodious voice of everything and nothing at all, just sounds, words meant to soothe and calm. He was efficient and finished within minutes.

"Better, Sarge?" he asked. At the lack of a reply from Saunders, Grady patted the sergeant's shoulder in silent compassion.

Saunders hadn't answered because something was eating at him, digging, nagging and spoiling his joy at seeing Long again; that and the pain which went deep and kept Saunders from thinking coherently. When the pain finally settled down to nearly bearable, he focused on Grady seeing him clearly for the first time.

The soldier was clean – not just sort of clean like that was the best you could do in the field with a helmet full of water and if you were lucky a real bar of soap. He was hot water, scrubbed by your mother behind the ears clean; even his pale carrot red hair shown fire in the filtered sunlight. His uniform, too, was clean…and new.

Grady saw the distress and confusion on Saunders' face and to distract him began to speak of all the guys they'd served with.

"Saw Kelly the other day…boy it was good to see him! And Doc Walton and Sergeant Mac. Hadn't seen any of 'em in ages. Great guys every one, huh Sarge?"

Saunders nodded and a new pain caught him in the chest…in the heart. Realization struck like a physical blow as Grady continued to ramble on about all the times they'd had together.

"Stop it! Damn it, Grady! Stop!"

Saunders tried to sit up, but Long prevented it, gently pressing the sergeant back to the ground with a hand on either shoulder.

But Saunders would be heard. "Grady! They're dead! The guys…all dead…and you…." Saunders voice dropped to a whisper. "Grady, you're dead, too. I saw it happen. I saw it." He dissolved into ragged gasping sobs. Gently, Long eased his friend up against his chest and held him.

"I saw it happen," Saunders continued weakly. "I…we…buried your body…at a little crossroads outside Chalon. It was raining, hard and we buried you…and Lieutenant Hanley said you'd be okay there 'til we could come back for you." His strength gone all Saunders managed was a last breathless exclamation, "I saw you…God…oh God…I saw you!"

And in his mind the sergeant remembered Grady's helmet, pierced by machine gun bullets, rolling to his feet and Hanley's as they followed the BAR man up the hill they had to take; and Grady, most of his head blown away, dead well before Saunders reached him. Saunders saw it all right, then, and every single time he tried to find sleep, he saw it, again and again and again.

----

Grady never had this happen before. He'd never _come back_ to anyone who had known him. His job was to give warnings, provide hope, save lives where possible. He feared that Saunders, his closest friend, would die because Grady Long broke the rules. Already the sergeant's bandaging was soaked through from his agitated thrashing. Each moment he grew weaker.

"It's gonna be okay, Sarge. It's gonna be okay, I swear it," he soothed with a hand soft against Saunders' sweat-soaked hair. "You saw me die, that's certain, but I'm here, not exactly the same as before, but real enough!" He continued to hold Saunders with great care, rocking him slowly while he spoke.

"I can't explain, but I'm here and the others, some of them, too, like Doc Walton and Kelly. We try to help out where we can.

"I never woulda come if I thought it would do you harm. I sure never meant to hurt you. It's sort of an unspoken law. We're not supposed to show ourselves to people we know. I made a decision, but I guess it was the wrong one. I thought you'd be too out of it to see me clear or remember afterwards. I shouldn't have come back. I just wanted to see you again, talk, you know. It was selfish." Grady's voice was thick with grief and regret.

Grady suddenly stiffened, listening to something only he could hear. "They're coming, Sarge…the squad…coming back for you. I gotta go!"

Saunders gave him no argument. He had little left to say to Grady Long. It had all been said, weeks before, in a driving rain at a crossroads outside Chalon, all but one thing, the most important thing.

Grady rested Saunders back against the ground and the sergeant struggled to stay conscious. He grabbed frantically for Grady's hand, holding on tightly. "I never got to say goodbye, Grady." Saunders struggled for breath, for strength and as Long's youthful face faded into the background of sky and trees, Chip Saunders' whispered goodbye went with him.

END


End file.
